


Solemn Promise

by parkguardian



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Fluff, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2035842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkguardian/pseuds/parkguardian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael's the best knight in the kingdom, and when he gets hurt, his King is there to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solemn Promise

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is a one shot i did while half asleep, so please if you catch errors tell me! feedback is appreciated.

He knew what he was doing.

It was all impulsive at this point, really. Parry, parry, thrust, riposte, block and then shift. He moved swiftly, dancing around his faceless opponent. His body was kept focused, working off of muscle memory. He let his thoughts relax and wander, soaking in the cheers of the crowd as he knocked his challenger down, jamming his foot into the center of their chest plate. He aimed his blade at their neck. Their helmet had gone flying off to the edge of the arena, tumbling through the dust.

He tugged off his own helmet and tossed it away, unleashing a reel of curls and ringlets that sprang up around his face. He gave a smile--it was almost serene, and therefore terrifying while he kept his sword pointed at his rival. His entire body was thrumming with adrenaline, and way below the skin he could feel the burn of bruises and weariness settling in.

"Now it's a fair fight," he said, releasing the pressure on his opponent's chest. He took a few steps back, watching as they scrambled to a stand.  
Focus.

Their sword was slightly trembling.

Parry, thrust, parry, parry, block.

There was an opening, and he took it. A quick jab and blood spurt from their knee. They'd been able to slam the edge of their sword into his side before they went down into the dirtied ground once more.

"Back to square one," he muttered. He said it quietly, so only they could hear his words under the roars of the crowd. He stepped on their wrist. They let out a noise of pain, their hand releasing the hilt of their sword. He kicked it out of their reach.

He laughed, shaking his head.

"That's what happens when you fuck with Mogar the warrior," he yelled, and he slit their throat. He held up his bloodied sword into the air, basking in the excitement of the people filling the arena. Michael caught glance of his King, slouching at his seat in the balcony and looking pleased.

* * *

 

Michael was tired and satisfied. His metal and chain mail had creaked with each step he took, his armor keeping his posture upright as he wandered out of the arena. His personal squire was waiting for him outside, flyaway hair and happy demeanor the same as always.

"You did wonderfully, sir," he gushed, taking the bloodied sword from Michael's arms and carrying it delicately.

"Thanks, Gavin," Michael said, stifling a yawn. He felt like his armor was dragging him down. The adrenaline was rushing out of his system, leaving him stranded with his aching limbs and a desperate need for a nap.

Gavin guided Michael toward one of the striped tents. The moments in the tent passed in a blur--Michael had the strangest sensation when the plating to his armor was being lifted from his body by Gavin's nimble fingers. One minute, he was anchored down, and the next he was being swept up by the wind. The transition of being heavy to weightless left him with tingles along his skin, or maybe that was the blossoming bruises starting to really settle. Michael, now free of his armor, was left dressed down to the lighter clothes of a peasant, and he couldn't be more comfortable.

Gavin gave him a shy smile before aiming him in the direction of the back entrance to the castle's halls, letting him wander as he pleased. Michael, of course, went straight for the King's quarters.

Any time Michael followed the tiled floors to his King's room, there was an anonymous guard standing at attention outside. By the time Michael would slip out once more, the guard would be gone. The guard outside knew the drill by now, Michael was sure. He'd let Michael through the heavy doors and scurry away to give Michael and his King some privacy.

The room was, as expected, luxurious. There was a plush carpet and a fluffy bed with canopy, and the heads of animals and the most ornate of weapons were hung along the walls. It was also empty, because Michael usually got there first after a match in the tournament. This was mostly due to the fact Michael was allowed to leave, while the King continued to talk to the people about when the next match would take place.

Michael flattened himself out on the bed and breathed in the familiar smell surrounding him. His curls spilled across the pillows and he closed his eyes. He would just rest his eyes, if only for a minute.

* * *

 

When Michael startled from sleep, the curtains had been drawn and no sunlight poured through the cracks in the fabric. There was a warm hand in his hair, scratching along his scalp. He pushed up into the touch, sighing.

Geoff was perched there, without the crown and the robes. He looked as tired as Michael felt, but he was smiling, and his blunt nails felt good as they raked through Michael's hair. Michael lit up immediately at the sight of him. His face fell almost as quickly once he saw the materials set on Geoff's lap.

Michael burrowed himself down in the blankets and hid his face. His voice was muffled by the comforter, and still, he protested:

"I'm fine, thanks. I'll live."

"Michael, you're obviously not fine."

Michael groaned, hauling himself away from the warmth of the bed. He crossed his arms, glowering at Geoff. King Geoff, all nice smiles and calloused palms and messy hair, getting worried over his knight. Michael couldn't help but close the distance between them and kiss Geoff on the mouth. He liked the way Geoff's mustache tickled and the way the scruff of his scraggly beard felt against Michael's smooth skin.

When they pulled apart, Geoff was careful to lift Michael's shirt up over his head. His paled skin had been marked up in the past, and he was scarred all down his torso. Today, bruises were left like watercolors on a blank canvas across his chest. His skin was raised in some places, red and angry, more so from impact than anything else.

Geoff had several dressings in his lap, as well as a cloth and a small vial of water. He poured the water out across the cloth and rubbed it lightly across the irritated wounds. Michael squawked as a faint pain spread over him.

God, he felt sore.

"That match was drawn out longer than it was supposed to. You don't have to show off so much, you know that?"

"What can I say? The crowd loves me," Michael grinned.

"You're just asking for trouble. I think you secretly like to see me worry."

"It's not much of a secret, really."

Geoff poked him in the side. Michael yowled and slapped at Geoff's hand.

"You're lucky you're the best. Otherwise, you'd get seriously hurt, and then who would be left to protect me? I could get a splinter or something and it would all be your fault. The whole world will have to stop and help me, all because you weren't here to be at my side to prevent global disaster."

"I get critically wounded and you're crying over a fucking splinter?" Michael asked, scrunching up his face.

"Yes. What else would I cry over? Gavin getting kicked by a horse again?"

Michael snorted with laughter. The action caused another sharp spike of pain to run through his ribs, but he was able to ignore it well enough. Geoff had started to bind the inflamed wounds that had blistered the skin, the ones that ripped him open only just. To Michael, it was normal, it was what happened when you were in combat. Geoff hated to see him hurt, though, and after each battle was the same. Michael insisted he didn't need that kind of care, they'd heal on their own.

Really, he thought Geoff liked doing it, though. He'd give in to Geoff every time.

Geoff's hands rubbed along Michael's spine and down his back. It was soothing and simultaneously causing Michael's eyes to slip shut again. Geoff planted a chaste kiss to the back of Michael's neck.

Then, all contact was gone. Geoff had moved away to set down the healing supplies on one of the shelves nearby. Michael took this as an opportunity to climb back under the comforter. He tossed over and became face level with Geoff's knee, but he was okay with that. His tongue poked out from his mouth and licked at the curve of Geoff's skin.

"Did you just lick my knee, you freak?"

"Yes, _your grace_ ," Michael said, snickering.

Geoff turned bright pink. He buried himself under the blankets and wrapped Michael up in his arms, kissing the top of his head. "What would I do without my boy, huh?" Geoff mumbled, finding Michael's hand and holding onto it. He squeezed Michael's palm. "I'd be a lousy king, that's for sure."

"I swore myself to you, didn't I?"

Geoff hummed. Michael could feel the vibration at the base of his skull.

"'I here swear fealty and do homage to the Crown of the Middle Kingdom,'" Michael recited. He looked up at Geoff through a few stray locks that had fallen into his face. He pressed a kiss to Geoff's jaw and let his forehead rest along Geoff's chest. "I'm not going anywhere without you. I promise."


End file.
